


On top a Wall, a second time

by IAmNotOneOfThem



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 05:16:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20040529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmNotOneOfThem/pseuds/IAmNotOneOfThem
Summary: It was a sombre autumn day and Aziraphale sat by his desk, reading a book. In the distance, the Berlin Wall stood, gloomy and dark, a symbol of separation.The newspaper next to him read November 9, 1989.





	On top a Wall, a second time

Holding a cup of tea that he had taken with him from England, Aziraphale stopped in front of the window and looked outside.

It was a sombre autumn day, made only bleaker by the sight of the Wall in the distance, that ugly concrete barrier that separated East from West.

Even now, more than twenty years after its construction, Aziraphale’s soul ached at the sight of it.

Family members, friends, neighbours and lovers – kept apart because of differences in ideology, because of politics. Houses demolished just because they were too close to the border, inhabitants forced to leave behind their homes. Checkpoints and guard towers, staffed with policemen that were armed; dogs trained to attack; spotlights and patrolling cars.

Too many people had lost their lives trying to cross the death strip. Each death weighed heavy on Aziraphale’s shoulders.

Not for the first time since he’d come here, Aziraphale wished for a Miracle, the kind that surpassed even what angels and demons could do. He prayed that the separation would end soon, that Erich Honecker, former head of the East German state, was wrong, that the Wall would not still exist in a hundred years.

One hundred years was nothing more than the blink of an eye for an ethereal being like him. But it was everything for the people here, some of whom had been born into a country split into two and would most likely not live to see the day the Wall would fall and Germany be united again.

Aziraphale turned away from the window. No Miracle had come. The sky was grey and the sun was hidden behind a heavy cover of clouds, but no rain came. The tears had long dried.

He sat by his desk and opened a book, eager to distract his mind from the sadness that hung heavy in the air outside.

The newspaper next to him read November 9, 1989.

xx

“Aziraphale!”

The angel in question startled and nearly knocked over his cup, but Crowley saved it with an absent-minded gesture. Before Aziraphale could even ask what was wrong, Crowley was by his side and started tugging on his arm.

“Come on! Quick!”

When Aziraphale didn’t immediately follow, Crowley’s tugging got more insistent.

Last time Aziraphale had seen him, Crowley had invited him to some concert in Budapest back in July, three years ago. ‘Queen’, the band was called, known for the sort of bebop that Crowley had been obsessed about for quite some time now. Something about that concert in particular had struck Crowley as significant and he’d been certain that the event would be remembered for decades. Aziraphale couldn’t quite agree with that sentiment, but it was always nice to see Crowley be unabashedly excited and happy about something, even if it was horrible music.

Standing in Aziraphale’s apartment now, Crowley looked just like he had done in 1986. All in black, with women’s skinny jeans, a tank top and a leather jacket, wearing a large belt that was loosely wrapped around his thin waist and piercings in his ears. He’d grown his hair out below his chin and kept it in a style that suggested messiness and carelessness but was actually painstakingly calculated. His serpentine eyes were hidden by a pair of black sunglasses, but even without seeing them, Aziraphale knew they were darting about in agitation or excitement.

Aziraphale shook his arm free. “What’s got into you, Crowley? You’re in quite a sta—“

“They’re letting people come through the Wall!”

That shut Aziraphale up immediately. “W-what?”

Crowley started tugging on his arm again. This time, too dumbfounded to protest, Aziraphale let the demon pull him onto his feet and out the door.

“I just heard it on the radio. One of the party officials said people could travel from East to West, effective now!”

“But—“

“Media from both sides have reported on it. First control station to let people through was Bornholm Street. People can just walk to the other side!”

Aziraphale could hardly believe it. His ears were ringing, his palms were sweaty, and he could feel his heart beat frantically in his chest. He nearly tripped over his own feet, but Crowley steadied him. The demon slipped his hand into Aziraphale’s and continued tugging him along.

“Where are we g-going?”

Crowley threw his head back to look at him. His sunglasses had slipped down, showing bright yellow eyes, lined with heavy black makeup. “Brandenburg Gate! The radio said people are climbing the Wall!”

Only now did Aziraphale notice it was dark outside. But that wasn’t the only thing he noticed. As they got closer to the Pariser Platz, he began hearing it: Shouting. No, singing. Cheering.

And he was hit by feelings of love and joy, strong enough to almost sent him reeling. Had Crowley not pulled him along, Aziraphale might have stumbled. But Crowley’s grip was strong and he seemed unaffected by the electricity in the air. Steadfast, he dragged Aziraphale forward, and eventually, they reached the square.

Both immortal beings stopped dead in their tracks. Not that they could have walked any further because there were too many people in front of them.

And all of them were cheering.

Getting on his tiptoes, Aziraphale let his gaze wander over the crowd, over the countless people who were crying and singing and swarming the square, once a centre of culture and art, until recently a deserted zone, now – once more – filled with people, filled with joy.

From his position at the back of the crowd, Aziraphale could see people standing on top of the Wall. Behind them, the Brandenburg Gate, illuminated as usual. On the flagpoles, flags were dancing in the wind; on top the wall, people waved flags, black red and gold, and signs they had hastily drawn before coming here.

Someone – or several people – had drawn on top of a warning sign that read ‘Attention, you are leaving West Berlin’.

It was overwhelming.

Hastily, Aziraphale wiped his eyes with his free hand. The movement seemed to jostle Crowley out of his own stupor, as suddenly, the demon began moving again. In front of him, people moved aside, forming a small lane through which Crowley and Aziraphale walked forward until they stood right in front of the Wall.

Crowley craned his neck and shouted up, “He, können‘se uns hochhelfen? Ick geb Ihnen ooch n Zehner.”

The man that stood right above them peered down and laughed. “Behalten’se Ihre Kröten, ick helf Ihnen ooch so ruff. Heut is schließlich unser Sonntach.“

The man turned to those around him, then they reached down. Before Aziraphale could even protest, the people, with the help of Crowley, lifted him up and on top of the Wall. A moment later, Crowley followed, climbing up by himself.

“Danke Meesta,” Crowley said to the man before he turned back to Aziraphale. His glasses hung completely askew, but no one paid his strange eyes any attention.

Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley said anything. For a few minutes, they just stared into each other’s eyes, then turned, staring at the Brandenburg Gate. Around them, people continued celebrating, singing, crying, kissing, hugging, dancing, cheering and lighting sparklers.

A camera flashed and suddenly, Aziraphale thought back to the last time they'd stood side by side on top of a wall, overlooking what lay beyond. Back then, it had been a vast, endless desert. Today, it was East Germany. Back then, there had only been two humans. Now, there were countless.

And at the centre of it all they stood, for hours, until Crowley suddenly leaned in close and whispered into Aziraphale’s ear. “Let’s go to the nearest border crossing.”

Wordlessly, Aziraphale agreed. The nice man from before helped them down and this time, Crowley slipped him some money.  
Hand-in-hand, Crowley at the front, Aziraphale following, they walked until they were once again stopped by people. Here, citizens of East Berlin came West, some on foot, some with cars. Every new arrival was greeted by cheers and clapping.

An elderly woman walked past, clad only in her pyjamas, with an open coat and slippers. She didn’t even seem to notice the cold.

In any other situation, Aziraphale would have done a miracle to keep her warm, but he was dazed. His gaze was fixed on the scene in front of him. He felt like he was floating, incorporeal, and like the only thing grounding him was Crowley’s hand in his own.

For once, Aziraphale didn’t care about keeping a distance. Didn’t care about being seen in the company of a demon. Right now, all he cared for was witnessing this moment and sharing it with his friend.

xx

In the morning, when the night made way for the next day, the sun was shining.

A year later, October third, Germany was united again.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation from Berlin German to English:  
"Hey, can you help us up? I'll give you a tenner for it."  
"Keep your cash, I'll help you up anyway. It's our Sunday today, after all." (More or less an actual quote from a contemporary witness).  
"Cheers guv!"
> 
> Please note I am not from Berlin so I can't guarantee those lines are 100% accurate.  
Please also note that I wasn't there for the fall of the Wall nor did I live in Berlin at the time. None of my relatives did, either, so I used witness reports and news articles.


End file.
